


Bring Him Back

by PumpkinLily



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Breaky Week 2019, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Feelings, Freddie and Roger are worried, Hot Space Era, John is Tired, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sad Brian May
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:41:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21597835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinLily/pseuds/PumpkinLily
Summary: One time in what felt like another life, John had writtenYou and I, thinking about Brian. Now it was only arguments, anger, frustration, a mix of negative feelings straining their relationship. All of this was getting on his nerves, and he’d felt the need to it put down on paper, where he could speak without his boyfriend’s replies.At first, it started with a few words, and now he had a full song,Back Chat.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor, John Deacon/Brian May
Comments: 18
Kudos: 51
Collections: Breaky Week





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A story I wanted to write for Breaky Week (I know I'm late, sorry), combining ye old "Hot Space Angst" and "Proposal" prompts. Also I threw some Froger in it, 'cause I love the ship, although it is minor in this story.
> 
> Oh, Back Chat, you inspired so many writers.

John appreciated moments of peace alone, especially after a hard day of work. Being a rock star was a luck, something many people would only ever dream of, but it was exhausting.

The process of making an album had never been a bed of roses. Freddie, Roger and Brian, talented musicians with passionate spirits, were at the root of many wonderful songs, and heated discussions. Everybody wanted their idea to be praised and worked on, but there was so little place on an album. As for John, he’d always been much quieter in bringing his own contribution in Queen. He often watched his three bandmates arguing, sitting in a corner, speaking few but well sharp words when he got tired of their behaviour. 

If he had a discreet and more withdrawn personality, compared to his friends, he had never been a pushover. He simply voiced his own ideas and thoughts with a few decibels less. But _The Game_ brought another facet of him, less quiet, more vocal. Whether it was with his words or his bass, he took a more important part in the songs realisation – and the arguments which inevitably occurred. A force to be reckoned with, ever greater than before.

Even if things seemed bad at the moment, nothing was too serious for too long. Once they were back home, or at whatever hotel they were staying in, the sources of negative feelings brought by their work on the current album quickly disappeared. Freddie and Roger could go back to being even more sickeningly affectionate with each other, and he could focus on his relationship with Brian again. 

Not anymore. Not for the last couples of weeks, at least.

They always had creative differences when it came to music, but never in ten years had they been truly disrupting them. Maybe because, whatever genre of music their songs could be a pair with, rock had been their main root. Freddie always had been keen on trying new things, and for their new album, _Hot Space_ , it was disco. John approved this new approach; he also loved disco, he wanted funk, and it thrilled him to work on songs where his bass could let itself be hear more. 

But if he blossomed in this new musical environment, Roger grimaced. And Brian outright hated the direction _Hot Space_ was taking. They were a rock band, admittedly versatile and not confined to the limits of one musical genre, but in disco flourished horrible synthesisers, and the lack of guitar was criminal. 

A groan escaped with his mouth as he remembered their argument a few days ago. No, like Freddie, he didn’t believe the guitar solo they recorded worked well with _Staying Power_ , but _of course_ the guitarist couldn’t accept it. 

“We don’t always need your fucking guitar, _Brian_.” He muttered to one.

If Brian couldn’t go against the disco lovers’ wishes, he could disagree. And when he disagreed – which happened a lot these days, things quickly got vocal, even nasty. Not only between the four of them, but also between Brian and him. Especially between Brian and him.

The city itself wasn’t helping. Munich provided an easy access to drugs, numerous clubs with numerous opportunities to drink, party all night and arrive in the morning at the studio with heavy eyes and a hangover. All of this made them often tired, on edge, and consequently clashes, violent clashes, easily occurred. 

One time in what felt like another life, John had written You and I, thinking about Brian. Now it was only arguments, anger, frustration, a mix of negative feelings straining their relationship. All of this was getting on his nerves, and he’d felt the need to it put down on paper, where he could speak without his boyfriend’s replies. 

At first, it started with a few words, and now he had a full song, _Back Chat_.

Silently, John read the lyrics one more time. Yes, he was satisfied with what he wrote. It was a good song. Maybe they could include it on the album.

  
  
**-***-**  
  


“So, what do you think?”

Freddie didn’t answer, his eyes scanning the sheet where he’d written the lyrics. Concern could be read on his face. 

Several times, over the years, he remembered when John told him he was working on “something”, with a smile and such a sparkle in his eyes it could only foreshadow a love song. Under switched pronouns, his feelings for Brian. 

And now… 

_See what you've done to me. Don't push your luck, I'm ready to attack. Don't talk back, just leave me alone._

…Of course he knew things had been difficult between them lately – he believed he had seen them argue in an alarmingly serious way more in a few weeks than during the last ten _years_ – but he didn’t think John would make a song out of that. Because it wasn’t, it couldn’t be just a coincidence. He only hoped it was a warning, a “we need to talk” before it was too late. It had to be-

“Freddie?” John’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked at him again.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. “…Deaky… I really like your song. And I have no doubts you have a great melody planed for it.”

John appreciated his words, though he knew it wasn’t the song in itself he wanted to talk about. “But?”

His lips squirmed. It wasn’t going to be pleasant. “…Deaky, I think you and Brian need to have a talk.”

John scoffed. The last time he and his boyfriend talk to each other without getting angry was several weeks ago. 

“About what? How he hates disco? How he thinks we’re losing the essence of Queen? How he’s frustrated not to bore us with his never-ending guitar solos?”

Freddie was taken aback by his bitter tone. Where was the sweet Deaky who only had nice and loving words for Brian?

His smirk disappeared, and he frowned. “Whenever we have a… _discussion_ , it never ends well. He’s stubborn, he’s never happy with me, with what I do, my music tastes are horrible, and even when we’re not in the studio, when it’s not about music, he always seems to be mad at me. I’m fucking tired of this.” He sighed, and anger faded to sadness. “…I’m not sure he even loves me anymore.”

Freddie leant closer, and laid a hand on his arm. “…Deaky, don’t say that. I’m certain Brian still loves you.”

He stayed silent, and shrugged. He could only hope it was true. “…Anyway, let’s try the song.”

He sat in front of the synthesiser, and started to play. Freddie quickly caught the rhythm, and the song took shape. While singing, he noticed the bassist’s little smile as his hands moved across the keys. Freddie felt a bit like a proud mother who would have watched her shy child grow more assertive. If there was one positive thing among the last weeks mess, it was to see how John blossomed. 

Once Back Chat ended, the two looked at each other with a smile. It was a great start already. John thought the singer had nailed it, but before he could tell it, they heard someone clapping. Roger was standing behind the window pane, a little smile on his face. He looked a bit tired, which wasn’t uncommon lately. Freddie’s face lightened, and he joined his boyfriend.

“Look who finally decided to get out of bed.” He said before giving him a warm hug.

“What, did you miss me?” Roger replied, warping his arms around his waist. 

He got a kiss for an answer, and John couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous. The album had taken its toll on them two, but they didn’t argue as much, as violently, as Brian and him. And they still kissed each other. He hadn’t kissed Brian for three weeks.

Roger then turned towards him. “Hi Deaky. Was that your new song?”

“Yeah. I take you liked it?” He asked with half a smile.

“It’s nice. The tune is catchy.” He hummed the melody for a few seconds. “But I doubt Brian…”

John rolled his eyes, and his lips turned into a snarl. “Yeah, well it’s not like he disliked everything I made lately.”

Speak of the devil, the door opened, and Brian entered, a tired and annoyed expression on his face. The shadows under his eyes were practically permanent since they had moved to Munich. He glanced at his bandmates, and only had a neutral look for his boyfriend. John didn’t expect anything else, and looked at him coldly. He thought Brian didn’t deserve anything more. 

It didn’t mean it was less painful. A softer part of him, stifled by his negative feelings, missed the times where he’d arrive at the studio with a bright smile for him only. 

The guitarist quickly noticed the horrible machine behind the window pane, and frowned. “…What do you need that for?” He asked with disgust.

“It’s just a synthesizer. No need to be so hostile.” John replied quietly, and Brian scoffed.

“Deaky wrote a new song.” Freddie quickly said, before any of them could go down the nasty remarks road. “We just practised it. It’s quite good, you know.”

He raised a brow, and crossed his arms. “And I suppose the _synthesiser_ ’s presence is of utmost importance?”

“Yes.” The bassist affirmed. “But it’s just an instrument, _Brian_. Listening to it won’t kill you.”

 _‘No, but watching you play it, enjoy it, might.’_ He thought, teeth clenched.

“Please, how about we simply listen to the song?” Freddie asked in a gentle voice.

Brian stayed silent for a short moment, and sighed. “Fine.” 

He glanced at John, who send him back an inexpressive look, before he started to play. It had been kind of Freddie to try to defuse the situation, but he knew things would inevitably go downhill from here. 

_Back chat, back chat,_  
_You burn all my energy,_  
_Back chat, back chat,_  
_Criticizing all you see,_  
_Back chat, back chat,_  
_Analysing what I say,_  
_Back chat, back chat,_  
_And you always get your way…_

Roger saw how Brian’s eyes open wider and wider, his face turn bright red by the end of the first verse. The song continued like everything was fine, though he half-expected the guitarist to suddenly jump at John and strangle him. He wished he wasn’t that dramatic. Tension had been building up between the two for weeks now, and he knew they would reach the boiling point soon. And things would be vicious. 

When the bassist finished playing, he looked up, and faced Brian’s eyes, full of anger and incomprehension. He held his look, and stayed calm. Seeing him like this brought an undeniable feeling of satisfaction. 

“…What the _hell_ does it mean, Deaky?” 

He shrugged. “Nothing much. It’s just a song. ‘Not my fault if you recognise yourself in it.”

Freddie thought Brian would explode, or respond with something nasty, but he managed to contain his anger – not without some efforts – and simply sighed loudly. John was a bit surprised. He was used to argue with the guitarist after he suggested something or responded to his words these days. Maybe he was tired of making a scene. Maybe, most probably, he just wanted to get it over with as fast as possible. 

“Whatever.” He took his guitar in hand and sat on a stool. “What are the guitar lines?”

John smirked interiorly. No doubts he wouldn’t appreciate what was about to come in the slightest.

“Brian, there are no guitar lines.”

He stopped moving. They all saw how his fingers tensed on the strings.

“…What?”

“You heard me. There are no guitar lines on my song.”

Brian blinked several times, and looked at him with utter disbelief. “…What- _Why_?!”

“Because it’s not needed.” He said plainly.

_“It’s not needed. I don’t need your guitar. I don’t need you. I don’t want you.”_

If it wasn’t his dear Red Special Brian was holding, the guitar would have ended on the floor, probably not unscathed. He got up, and placed his instrument back on its stand, hands slightly trembling. His eyes shifted back to John, who was determined not to show any emotion. The bassist stayed still, and Freddie flinched. Roger was glad he wasn’t the one Brian was murdering with his look right now. They couldn’t remember the last time he appeared so intimidating. 

“ _Fine_.” He was almost choking on anger. “Then I guess _I_ ’m not needed anymore.”

Before Freddie could say anything, he stormed off the room in quick footsteps. Not long after, they heard a door slam. He glanced at Roger, who shared a helpless look, then John, who seemed calm as always. Eerily calm. It took him a few seconds before daring to break the silence.

“…Deaky…”

He looked back at him. “What?”

He sighed. “…You… I know Brian’s been difficult recently, but adding fuel to the fire wasn’t reasonable.”

John snorted, and smirked. “I didn’t feel like being reasonable.”

Freddie found his smile unsettling. He knew pretty well how rough things had been between them lately, but Brian was his boyfriend. He couldn’t actively want to hurt him. Right?

“Regardless, it’s not doing any good, neither for him neither for you. Don’t tell me you don’t want things to get better.”

He growled. “For fuck’s sake, Freddie.”

“He’s right, y’ know.” Roger added quietly. “Deaks, the last thing we want to see is you two breaking up.”

He stayed silent for a moment, before mumbling “Tell that to the one who’s been arguing and criticising me for weeks.”

Roger’s lips twisted downside. “Well… You can’t say you don’t have a role to play in that.”

John did little more than fix him, before turning his head. No, he couldn’t say he had been easy to work with recently. His wishes for the album vastly differed from his boyfriend’s ones, which was a source of nearly constant disagreement ─ if it didn’t bring fights – and he was much more vocal than before. For the better and the worse, and he knew his words could sting where it was the most painful. They had mutually hurt each other several times, and neither of them really had said sorry.

If he’d been able to dissimulate his feelings through neutrality and anger, he couldn’t deny it hurt. It hurt, it was exhausting, and he missed Brian terribly. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Freddie’s kind eyes. “Deaky, I think you need to have a talk with Bri. Even if one talk doesn’t magically solve everything, it’d be better for the both of you.”  
He sighed, and slowly got up. “…I know.”

The singer showed him an encouraging smile, followed by Roger. He left the room, thinking about what he could say to Brian. That is, if he ever wanted to talk to him.

  
  
**-***-**  
  


His blood was boiling. How could John _think_ about include this song on the album?! Even more without asking him, when it was blatantly obvious he gave him a piece of his mind through the song?!

…Was it really what he thought of him? That he was someone irritating, who didn’t let him express himself, who constantly criticised him? Who had been so awful with him, he was ready to blow up?

He didn’t know if he wanted to scream, or burst out crying. He’ll probably end up doing both.

He heard a knock on his door. “…Brian?”

John. He was surprised. He didn’t think he’d have followed him back to the hotel. 

“F-” The insult died in an angry breath. He didn’t know how he managed not to pronounce it out loud. “…What the fuck do you want?” He asked aggressively.

“…I’d like to talk to you.” 

He scoffed. “Oh really? You shut me out and now you want to talk?!”

There was a short moment of silence. “…Brian, please.”

His voice was soft, miles away from his cold tone from earlier. Maybe he was sorry and wanted to apologise. He could definitely use kind words, especially from his boyfriend. He hadn’t seen enough of him lately.

…But he had seen enough of the bassist. And so the softer part of him was quickly stifled behind his anger.

“…Come in.” 

John entered the room. As soon as they glanced at each other, invisible lightning flashed between their eyes. Tension went through the roof again – but this time, things would explode. Brian was sitting on the large bed, face red, furious. John doubted he was in for a serene conversation.

“I-”

“Deaky, how the hell- how did you think you could include that song on the album?!”

All the bassist’s peaceful intents immediately vanished. _‘Fuck this.’_

If Brian wanted to argue, he wouldn’t disappoint. “Oh that’s right, because everything I write is complete shit these days.”

“It’s not-” He groaned, teeth clenched. He got up, and looked right into his eyes. “You come up with a song in which you clearly state how annoying I am, and you have the fucking nerve to assure the song isn’t about me? Did you only think about how that’d make me feel?!”

Oh, John had thought he certainly wouldn’t appreciate it, to say the least. But he didn’t care. “Oh, because _you_ care about how I feel when you try to shove your guitar down my throat and criticise everything I want to make.”

“You _know_ why I’m so keen on guitar! Fuck, Deaky, we’re a rock band!”

Not this again. “Thanks, it’s not like you ramble about this almost every day. ‘Doesn’t mean we can’t evolve and not include guitar for a change.” His mouth turned into a sneer. “It’s refreshing not to hear you.”

Brian felt a bullet pass through his heart, and John, riled up, didn’t catch the expression that passed on his face for a second.

“That’s what you think? I should simply shut up, accept we’re losing our soul and watch you play while I rot in a corner?! I guess that’s why I’ve felt so fucking useless recently!” His voice was strangled by anger.

“Lose our- For fuck’s sake Brian! Is it too much to ask to accept a bit of change?!” He screamed, startling the guitarist for a second. 

“Disco isn’t _just_ a bit of change!” He wanted to rip his hair out. “It means getting rid of guitar and adding synthesiser! It’s the antithesis of rock! It’s not what we are!” He insisted with hand gestures.

“Please, how about you open your damn mind and accept your guitar isn’t always necessary?” John asked, getting closer. “That I _don’t_ want your guitar in _my song_ , end of story!”

He gritted teeth, and clenched his fists. His blood felt close to magma. “Oh, _right_ , because I’m not needed?!”

“Indeed. I don’t _need_ you and your loud, obnoxious-”

A punch interrupted his acerbic words, and the force made him move backwards. 

Breathing heavily, Brian stepped back, fist slowly unclenching. John passed his hand on his face, eyes opened wide, and the guitarist realised he just hit his boyfriend. 

His anger vanished, and his heart sank. The silence in the room was deafening.

John blinked a few times, swept his fingers under his nose and looked at his hand. Brian’s breath hitched when he noticed the traces of blood above his lips. 

The bassist looked back at him. He didn’t look angry, neither hurt. His grey eyes were painfully dull.

Mortified, unable to talk, Brian stretched out his hand, and his boyfriend left the room without a word.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Brian and John's argument. Things are bad for the moment, but it doesn't mean they're hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, months after the first chapter, I'm back with the second! Finally 😄 Words have flowed rather easily for this chapter and I hope it'll continue for the next. I don't know how long the fic is gonna be, so I've added another chapter to the count for now.
> 
> Have a good read!

“Deaky…”

No one responded to him. The silence was stifling.

His legs gave out, and he collapsed on the bed _._ His eyes lowered to the ground, but the only thing he could see was the picture of the traces of blood above John’s lips.

When was the last time he hit someone?

The horror of his act fell down on his shoulders, and a whimper escaped his lips. No matter how sorry he was, it didn’t change the fact he hurt his boyfriend. And the punch was only part of the problem.

The many reproaches and angry words of those last weeks rushed back to his mind, painful, as painful as his physical act of violence, and Brian wondered how he could have come to that, him who thought of John as if he could take the stars out of the sky.

John didn’t notice how miserable he was until he looked at himself in the mirror, after taking a handkerchief to stop his nose from bleeding. The shadows under his eyes certainly didn’t help, but what struck him the most was the sadness on his face.

He couldn’t mask what he felt under a mask of indifference anymore. And it wasn’t the literal punch he got from his boyfriend which hurt the most. He drove Brian, his sweet, kind Brian, angry enough to hit him.

In truth, they both had been horrible towards each other, but now he could only think about every time he didn’t listen to his doubts and lamentations, every time he responded with a nasty remark, these last few weeks. Without forgetting the numerous arguments about their divergent musical interests which never failed to add oil on the fire.

“ _It’s refreshing not to hear you.”_ Did he really say that to his boyfriend? With a _smile_ on his face?

He was angry, and frustrated, and he didn’t really mean it, but still…

It had been the icing on the pile of hurtful words. No wonder Brian snapped.

‘ _Such a great boyfriend you are.’_

He quickly walked out of the bathroom, unable to look at his reflection for any longer, and flopped on the large bed of his room. He clenched his fists, and breathed harshly. A lump had grew in his throat. His nose tingled, and he bit his cheek, but it didn’t prevent his vision from getting blurry.

“I’m sorry…” His voice broke, and a sob followed. He screwed his eyes shut as tears ran down his cheeks. “Brian- I’m sorry-”

That was all he could say before a wave of sobs overwhelmed him.

**-***-**

The next day, Brian managed to drag himself to the studio. Relationship problems or not, they had an album to work on, and it wouldn’t get done by itself. And even if he didn’t do much, it was always better than staying in his room all day and mope around in regrets and sorrow.

It didn’t mean they couldn’t get him. Especially with the way he communicated with John.

Sure, they didn’t argue, or even raise their voices once in all day, which hadn’t happened for weeks. But he wasn’t sure it was an improvement. Now, outside of necessary exchanges for the work, the bassist stayed silent, and avoided his look when their eyes met. He had always been good at hiding his emotions behind neutrality, though this time it was obvious something was afflicting him.

It hurt. Everytime Brian looked at him, before guilt made him look away, his heart broke a bit more. Focusing on music as much as possible couldn’t prevent him from thinking about what he did, what he said. The more he thought about it, the harder it was to decide what he should say now.

“Deaky, I’m sorry. I’ve been horrible at you. I regret what I did and what I said. Please, forgive me-”

“Deaky, I miss you.”

“Deaky, I still love you.”

But he didn’t say any of these words, and so hours passed, awfully quiet. Even Freddie and Roger were quieter than usual. Neither of them asked about what happened – they didn’t say anything, but they knew the cause of their silence wasn’t the result of something good – and while Brian was grateful for that, a part of him desperately wanted to talk, pour his heart out to someone. Maybe even cry on their shoulder.

As soon as they decided to stop for the day, John left the studio, without a word. Heavy-hearted, the guitarist did the same, avoiding his bandmates’ look. The word “coward” resonated in his mind.

**-***-**

“…Do you think they broke up?”

It was Roger who asked the question. The one which had been lurking in their minds as soon as they saw Brian was all sad and John was eerily quiet today. The one neither of them wanted to think about.

Freddie sighed, and leant a bit more into his embrace. “…I hope not, dear.” They both would’ve looked much worse if it’d been the case. At least, that was what he thought. “I know they still love each other. They’re just going through a difficult time. It won’t last.”

“…Freddie, they’ve been arguing and screaming at each other for _weeks_.” His boyfriend reminded. “And today, silence. Silence and Brian looking fucking miserable.” And he was certain John was miserable too, simply he could hide it. “’Doesn’t seem like good news to me.”

As much as he wanted to say the fact the two stopped fighting and throwing insults was an improvement, Freddie knew it wasn’t the case. People didn’t avoid looking at each other when things were good.

But John and Brian couldn’t have broken up. It couldn’t end like that, over creative differences among things. Something pretty bad had happened yesterday after _Back Chat_ ’s presentation, but it wasn’t too late. They just needed help. And there was no way he’d continue to sit there and watch them destroy their relationship any further.

“I’ll go talk to Brian.” Freddie declared, leaving the couch where he’d been comfortably sitting with Roger.

“Okay.” The blonde simply replied. He trusted him. His boyfriend always had been good at comforting people.

Freddie left his suite, and the potential break-up immediately popped up in his mind. Fucking brain.

But as much as he didn’t want to believe it, maybe Brian and John _did_ break up. If it happened, he’d need to put aside his own sadness for a while, because poor Brian would need all the support he could get. The two had been together for about seven years, and he knew how much their relationship was important for the guitarist. Though of course he’d help John too.

Quickly enough, he arrived in front of the door of his friend’s suite, and gently knocked. “…Brian?”

No answer. The hall was silent, and he couldn’t hear anything coming from behind the door. But he doubted his friend was sleeping.

He knocked again, a bit stronger this time. “Brian, dear, can you hear me?”

Silence, once again. He was about to knock a third time when he heard muffled footsteps getting closer. The door was unlocked,and slowly, Brian opened.

His heart sank. If his friend looked miserable earlier, he was a complete mess now. His shoulders were slumped, his eyes were red, and the sad expression on his face was just heartbreaking to watch.

“…Freddie?” His voice was low, broken.

“I… Can we talk, darling?” The singer asked softly.

Brian sniffed, and didn’t answer, but opened the door further to let him in. He actually wanted to talk, which was a relief. Freddie had been afraid he’d have sent him packing.

He walked inside, and despite the fact the room was only illuminated by the bedside lamp, he almost immediately noticed a glass and a half-full bottle of whisky on the coffee table. If over the years Brian had had the tendency to drown his sorrows either in a silent suffering or music, recently, alcohol was where he took refuge in, so the sight didn’t surprise him. It saddened him though.

Brian flopped on the couch, head low, and Freddie carefully sit next to him. He placed a reassuring hand on his arm, but the guitarist didn’t move, didn’t look at him. His eyes were dull, staring into nothingness, and his breath was regular, but unsteady. Freddie figured it was better to wait for his friend to talk, so he waited patiently.

After a moment though, the silence started to worry him. What if they _really_ broke up? He had an easy way with comforting people, but taking care of a broken heart was something delicate and he doubted words would be helpful in this situation.

“I hit him.”

His tone was low, almost a whisper. It took Freddie a second to understand what he was talking about, then his eyes opened wide.

“We had another fight. I-I was angry a-and he told me I-” He breathed harshly, tried to control himself. “He… He told me he didn’t need me, told me I was loud a-and obnoxious-”

A sob escaped his mouth, and Freddie’s heart cracked. Instinctively, he shifted closer, wanting to hug him, but two long arms swiftly warped themselves around him, pressing him in a tight, desperate embrace. Brian had missed terribly having someone in his arms, feeling a warm presence against him. And after what he did, who knew if John would want his hugs ever again.

He grit his teeth, but it didn’t stop the emotions from overflowing. “A-And I-I just lost it-”

His grip around Freddie tightened, so much the pressure on his ribs was getting unpleasant, but the singer didn’t have the heart to tell him. Fighting back his own tears, he gently stroked his back with one hand, keeping the other on his waist, while Brian cried his heart out. The last time he had someone crying in his arms, the guitarist was in the hospital battling against hepatitis and gangrene. And John, after trying to keep a calm face for a long time, couldn’t hold it anymore, afraid the one he was in love with wouldn’t make it.

Freddie thought about their bassist. Had he cried too? How was he holding up?

He kept stroking Brian’s back, holding him gently, and slowly, his sobs faded. It took several minutes before his breath got regular again, before the sobs stopped completely.

He didn’t lean away, but lightened the pressure on Freddie’s ribs, who mentally thanked him. He wanted to keep him in his arms as long as possible. It wasn’t the same as hugging his boyfriend, but it felt good nonetheless.

“I didn’t want to hurt him.” He let out, his voice lifeless. “I love him Fred. God I love him. I…”

“I know dear.” Freddie replied softly, a lump in his throat. “You were just angry and frustrated.”

“That’s not a reason-” He stopped talking, and took a moment to collect himself. “I should’ve calmed down and listened to him. But I… after that fucking song, I didn’t want to hear anything.”

Freddie wasn’t surprised. With all the arguments and negative emotions boiled between them recently, one of them snapping at the other eventually seemed unavoidable. “…What happened after you hit Deaky?”

“…He bled.”

Freddie felt like a cold shower run through him. “ _What_?”

Brian whimpered. “I hit him in the nose. He-He left my room after that. He didn’t say anything.”

He had seen Brian hit a few bastards as a last resort in the last years, but never hard enough to draw blood. The fact it happened to John of all people was troubling. “…And I suppose it’s been radio silence between you two since?”

“…Yeah.” He admitted, hearing the reproach in his friend’s voice. Or maybe it was his own guilt hearing it.

Freddie sighed, and slowly leant away from the guitarist. His look softened a bit when he met his eyes, his face, stricken with guilt and regrets, but he was still disappointed. He kept a steady but soothing hand on his shoulder, and stared right into his eyes.

“…So… You haven’t broken up, right?”

Distress flashed in Brian’s eyes. “No! I-I haven’t said anything indicating I wanted things to be over.” His lips were pressed in a line. “That’s the last thing I want.” He added in a lower, pained voice.

“And Deaky?”

He looked down, and stared at his hands. “…I hope it’s not what he meant when he said he didn’t need me.”

Freddie places his other hand on his shoulder. “I’m certain it was only anger talking, Bri.”

Brian looked back up. He didn’t seem convinced. “…How can you be sure?”

He raised his brows. “Well, you’ll never know if you don’t talk to him.”

Yes, of course, talk. Talk about his feelings, his fears, have a civilised conversation with his boyfriend, and avoid starting a fight. Things he’d been unable to do for the last weeks.

He sighed. “Fred, it’s not that easy. I… I can’t-”

The pressure of Freddie’s hands on his shoulders increased, and his look hardened. Brian didn’t dare finish his sentence.

“Brian…“ He didn’t really sound pissed off, just out of patience. “You’ve been arguing with Deaky for weeks. Don’t you think it’s time to stop hurting each other constantly? Don’t think the only thing he wants to hear from you is that you’re sorry and you love him?” He stayed silent for a short moment. “I’m worried about you two, dear.”

He didn’t respond. Freddie was right. When was the last time he said “I love you” to his boyfriend? Where were his apologies for hitting him, for criticising him, his tastes, his wishes so much recently?

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, sheepish.

“Don’t say that to me dear, say it to Deaky.”

He stayed silent, and looked away. He hit John and that was certainly unacceptable. For that he deserved a “sorry”.

But… Sure, he wanted nothing but for things to get better between his boyfriend and him, but why did John have to be so difficult? Why couldn’t he try to understand how he felt? Why couldn’t _he_ tell him “I love you”?

“Brian?”

A sigh escaped his mouth. He felt very tired all of sudden. “…Deaky… I… He hasn’t been really willing to listen to me recently. Each time I try to talk about the direction we’re taking, he only has something nasty to respond with, or at best he tells me it wouldn’t hurt to open my mind. And so we argue again, and it leaves me angry and frustrated and… and I feel fucking useless.”

He stared at the bottle of whisky. Having another glass was tempting, but he didn’t have enough strength left to move. And maybe Freddie wouldn’t let him drink more in his state anyway. Not worth the effort.

He then found himself engulfed in a warm hug, and turns around.

“I’m sorry, dear. I should’ve… I should’ve tried to do something earlier.”

As the big brother of the band, Freddie did feel a bit… not _responsible_ , but given that the thunder-shower between Brian and John had been constant for weeks already, he couldn’t help but think he may have been not present enough for the two. Brian’s role had been a bit neglected through this album, it was a fact, and he understood his frustrations. After all, along with John, he’d been the one leading the band towards the disco tendency he appreciated and wanted to explore. Despite Brian and his own boyfriend’s reluctance.

The guitarist frowns, and gently places his hands on his back. He couldn’t let his friend take over the blame. “No- Freddie, don’t say that. It’s my fault. I… Deaky and me should have been able to solve this on our own.”

‘ _And you failed.’_ A part if his mind reminded.

The memory of his boyfriend noticing the blood coming from his nose made him wince.

“…Sure, darling, but maybe I could’ve done more.” Freddie said, still hugging him.

“Stop it. You’ve helped already, you’ve come to check on me. Now it’s up to us to do something.”

Both John and him had legitimate feelings as much as things to feel bad about. It definitely wasn’t an easy situation, but if they wanted to save their relationship before it was too late, it was high time for both of them to act; sit down, recognise their wrongs, and communicate. And there were so many things he wanted to tell to his boyfriend.

He only hoped John would want to listen to him.

**-***-**

“Deaky?”

Not long after Freddie left to check on Brian, Roger decided to do the same for John. He had felt a bit bad to stay in their room while their friend was getting eaten away by a silent suffering.

No response. He knocked again. “C’mon, Deaky. You in there?”

Maybe he was out. He knew John had the tendency to spend hours in clubs, partying and drinking until late into the night over the last weeks, specially if he had a rough argument with Brian during the day. And given how much they had fought recently…

Luckily, it wasn’t the case tonight, as he heard muffled steps coming closer. A few seconds later, the door unlocked, and John opened. His face was relatively neutral, but his redden eyes and the bags under them betrayed his tiredness. Roger also quickly noticed the familiar smell of tobacco, which had settled in since quite some time already.

“Rog.”

‘ _Damn, he looks like shit.’_ “I… I wanted to check on you.” He said in a soft voice. “…See how you were doing.”

“Wonderful.” John plainly replied.

Of course, he wasn’t, and the sarcasm in his voice didn’t surprise the blonde. But it pained him. He’d seen his friend hiding a lot behind either indifference or sarcasm since the difficulties in his relationship started.

“Deaky-”

John opened the door completely, and walked back inside his suite without a word. Roger understood it as a silent invitation to join him.

He found the bassist slouched on the couch, eyes looking vaguely in the direction of the coffee table, where an ashtray rested. He himself had started to smoke more during the making of this album, but it was nothing compared to John. _“_ _This fucking album’s gonna be the death of us”_ , he had said to Freddie a few times, only half-joking. The ashtray full of cigarette ends was another grim reminder on how the album was taking its toll on them.

He sat next to John, and looked at him more carefully. Closer to the light now, he seemed a couple of years older, not much because of the fine lines that started to show up around his eyes, but rather because of the weariness emanating from his face. And yet he was the youngest.

Roger laid his hand on his arm. He wasn’t the most patient person, but he didn’t want to browbeat him, so he waited for him to talk first. John kept his eyes on the coffee table, immobile, simply breathing and out.

Eventually, a corner of his mouth went down slightly. “’Suppose it was inevitable, eh?”

His choice of immediately alarmed Roger. He wasn’t insinuating… It couldn’t be, right? “What are you talking about?”

John didn’t answer straight-away, which only worsened his apprehension.

“C’mon, Deaks, just tell me.” He insisted, voice tinted by worry.

A long sigh escaped his mouth. “We haven’t broke up.”

The news should have brought Roger a bit of relief, but his unchanging expression and his deadpan tone prevented him from being reassured. What had been inevitable?

“So what happened?” He asked, his hand pressing his friend’s arm. “What are you talking about Deaky?”

Another long sigh. “We argued, again. Originally I went to talk to him ‘cause I wanted to apologise. I really wanted to apologise, y’know.” He repeated, a bit lower, voice more vulnerable. “But I…”

“But you?”

“…But Brian was angry, and the first thing he did was reproaching me for Back Chat, so I thought “fuck it” and I defended myself. ‘Wouldn’t have any of it. I continued to say things about him.”

As he talked, Roger finally noticed a change of expression on his face. It wasn’t better though, because he was now showing sadness. Sadness and guilt.

“I said I didn’t need him. That it was refreshing not to hear him. And-” His lips tensed, and he exhaled. “…’Guess I only got what I deserved.”

The bassist wasn’t the type to beat around the bush and the wait was starting to drive him mad. “Deaky, what the hell hap-”

“Brian punched me in the face. Hard.”

Roger froze. His brain couldn’t associate the picture of Brian, their sweet, kind, patient Brian, actually laying a hand on John. Granted, as peaceful and inclined to non-violent solutions his best friend was, he’d seen him throwing punches a few times, but only when things really were desperate. And all the people he had ever hit were massive twats.

Imagining Brian deliberately hitting his own boyfriend was surreal. It couldn’t be.

“I left after that.” John simply concluded, his look now directed at the ground.

And yet, given how bad their arguments had gotten, and the on-going tension between them recently… He could imagine it. And the vision was terrifying. He knew very well how anger could bring the worst out of people, but it was so unlike Brian. Now he knew why he had looked so miserable today. Roger was ten times more happy Freddie decided to talk to him, because their friend had to get caught in an even deeper sorrow by now. Maybe he also should comfort him. And tell him off.

But what could he even say to that? “Deaky, I… fuck, I’m sorry.”

For the first time since they sit, John looked at him. “What for? You didn’t hit me. You didn’t make me bleed.”

Roger felt as if he’d received an anvil on the heart. Brian just _couldn’t_ have hit him hard enough to draw blood-

“You’re- …Fucking hell.” Okay, now he definitely wanted to shake the guitarist and tell him off, deep sorrow or not. “I’m gonna kill him.”

John broke out a tiny smile. “Don’t, please. I still love him.”

The unexpected soft words threw him off for a second, but anger quickly came back. “Still, he fucking hit you Deaks, he had no right to hurt you.” He assured, placing a hand on his shoulder.

John seemed… conflicted. “Yeah, I suppose. But I’ve been a bloody tosser recently.” He looked away, and stared at his hands. “Brian punched me for a reason.”

Two strong arms warped around him, and Roger hugged him tight. Gratitude engulfed the bassist, and he hugged him back, feeling tension slowly leaving his body. The sudden warmth of his embrace was incredibly pleasant and welcomed, after weeks of physical and emotional distance with his boyfriend. Fuck, he’d missed it so much. It was so good to feel someone holding him, even if it wasn’t Brian.

“Stop this shit. Brian’s gonna be fucking sorry.” Roger assured, gently stroking his back with his hands.

“I hope.” Honestly, John was certain Brian _was_ sorry; the mortified look he’d caught on his face before leaving didn’t lie. He just wanted to hear him say it. “But I’m sorry too. I know how he is. I should’ve listened to him more, but I didn’t want to…”

But there had been a number of things that had gradually wore his patience out, that had been weighing on his mind lately. It was the same for Brian. And having proper and quiet discussions was hard when people were tired and frustrated, even more when their partner’s behaviour was part of the problem. But they were gonna have to act and talk, rather sooner than later, or their couple wouldn’t survive it.

The thought made him heavy-hearted. He only hoped to say and hear “I still love you”, to feel safe and cared for in his boyfriend's arms once again, to stop going to sleep with an important piece of his heart missing and an empty spot next to him.

He sighed, and rested his chin on his friend’s shoulder. “We’ve both been fucking morons, uh.”

“Damn right.” Roger whispered.

They stayed like this for a few minutes, surrounded by a comfortable silence, immobile apart from Roger’s warm hands that were doing their best to bring John a bit of comfort. And it worked pretty well. The bassist hadn’t felt that relaxed in several weeks. The drummer had always been good at giving hugs; no wonder Freddie liked to have him close.

Speaking about the singer… “’Wish we could be more like you and Freddie.”

“…But I thought you hated the mullet. And the last time Freddie suggested Brian to grow a moustache-”

John chuckled, and softly whacked him on the back. “You tit. Y’know what I mean. You don’t fight nearly as much. And you still have sex.”

Oh, yeah, that. Compared to them, Roger and Freddie’s relationship hadn’t suffered much. And he could imagine pretty well how the lack of intimate contact was difficult to live through. He was certain himself wouldn’t survive three weeks without sex. “On that, sure, but you remember the time it took us to get together? ‘Went smoother for you and Bri.”

John snorted. “’The fuck ‘you mean smoother? Took me to see Brian on the verge of death to tell him.”

Right. Maybe smoother wasn’t the best choice of word. “…I meant, after Brian got well again you two quickly became inseparable. Whereas for me and Freddie…”

Oh, yeah, what an adventure. “Right, all that longing. I thought we’d never see the end of it.” He said as if he was talking about a film or a novel. “But anyway…”

“What?”

John sighed. He felt pretty tired all of a sudden. “…I miss Brian.”

“I know. But it’s not too late Deaky.” Roger assured, before leaning away from his friend and firmly placing his hands on his shoulders. “You’re both gonna get your shit together, talk this through, and once all’s settled-” He winked. “You can catch up for all these weeks without kisses and sex.”

His large, bright smile and determined look, without forgetting the perspective of sharing a bed with Brian again lifted John’s spirits a little bit. There remained much to be done, but Roger’s words highlighted the ray of hope that still existed for them.

They’d get better. They had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it :) Don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment, they're always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it :) Don't hesitate to leave kudos and a comment, they're always appreciated.


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